


Holiday Reunions

by Nikolai_Knight



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Special, Family Reunions, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Nikolai_Knight
Summary: After their break-up, a reunion was the last thing Louis expected.Luckily for him, Claudia has other ideas.





	Holiday Reunions

_‘Papa, I cannot sleep.’_

_Louis sat upright. The bed creaked beneath him, as the blankets fell to his waist. It was a cool night and the chill ran through the thin fabric of his nightshirt, while his eyes struggled to adjust with only the moonlight shining through the gap of the curtains, and the open door cast a glow about Claudia that shadowed her from sight. The small figure jumped from foot to foot, while her skirts brushed and danced against the Axminster carpet._

_He patted the mattress beside him, while his eyes finally regained vision. Claudia ran across the bedroom with a loud pitter-patter of feet, before climbing onto the four-poster bed and throwing herself down beside him, and he smiled to see her porcelain doll still held tightly in her arms, with the custom-made nightdress adorning its frame. The material was the same one worn by Claudia. It was a gift commissioned by Lestat, who paid the tailor extra just so that the doll would always match its beautiful – yet spoiled – owner._

_Armand lay peacefully beside them. The little rises and falls of his chest denoted one lost in slumber, while his auburn hair cascaded over his shoulders, and Louis rolled so that his back was to his lover, allowing him to cradle Claudia against his chest with a warm smile. The soft blonde locks tickled at his nose, while her little fingers toyed with his lapel. Louis pulled his side of the blankets over her small body, as he gently tucked her into the bed._

_‘Sleep here,’ whispered Louis._

_He rested his chin upon her head, as he breathed deep her unique scent. A small buzz of his phone echoed about the quiet bedroom, while the light flashed with the image of Lestat, and he screwed shut his eyes, as he fought the urge to answer the device on his bedside table. He stroked instead at the soft satins of her dresses, while he counted her breaths and waited for her to drift into a peaceful slumber. Claudia murmured in a low voice:_

_‘I know what I want for Christmas.’_

_‘Oh? Tell me, my love.’_

_‘I want for you and Father to be together again.’ Claudia sighed. ‘I know how you both argued, but you also came together for great moments of love . . . I miss how we would laugh together and play together and every moment was shared together . . . do you not miss it? I even miss his tantrums and his complaints. I miss being a family.’_

_A low murmur escaped her lips. He watched as her eyelids fluttered, while her breath slowed, and soon she was lost in her dreams, as her plump lips moved as if the words would not stop even in her slumber. Louis pressed a chaste kiss to her head. The mattress dipped behind him, as Armand stirred and rolled onto his back. A car horn beeped outside, just as a beam of moonlight came down to strike perfectly at her porcelain skin, and brief memories flashed through his mind of late-night concerts and evening strolls along the promenade . . ._

_‘I miss it, too,’ whispered Louis._

_* * *_

Claudia waved at the gates. The smile was sincere and warm, as it reached the corners of her eyes and deepened the natural lines, and her plump cheeks reddened with a childish excitement as she spun around in her new uniform. It was only September, but still he remembered her parting words: _‘do not forget my holiday gift’._ The autumn leaves were falling all about her, like a rain of gold and amber, and she spun so elegantly in their presence.

The world was already far more lonely in her absence, even as Lestat stood beside him, and the hands the kneaded his shoulders only reminded him of better days, when this would have served as a touching moment between two parents. They watched until she was ushered inside by a young woman, who waited until the children were inside before she followed and locked the door behind them with a bright smile, and Claudia was finally hidden out of sight in the listed Victorian building that marked the next stage in life. Lestat chirped:

“I can’t believe it’s her first day of school.”

Louis winced and lowered his head. A warm breath blew across his neck, while soft lips pressed to the jugular vein that throbbed in time to his racing heart, and soon canine teeth nipped with an all too intimate gesture, until Louis was forced to pull back. He gazed into those blue-grey eyes, that were dilated and narrowed with an intense focus, and the sharp cheekbones highlighted a red flush, that disappeared into wild blond hair. There was no mistaking him as the father of Claudia, even as sometimes Louis sought to forget.

The small crowd of parents dispersed with relative speed, although a fear lingered with tears in their eyes and tissues at their noses, and Louis could only look Lestat over before he walked slowly towards the parking lot, where he kept his head low and his hands firmly at his sides. Lestat huffed behind him and kept pace. They stopped just before the door of the car, as Louis spun around with the tails of his coat flaring behind him.

“Do not be so intimate with me, Lestat.”

Lestat rolled his eyes and scoffed. Louis sought to ignore him, as he clicked open the door with key still inside his pocket, but – as he reached for the handle – a hand slammed forcefully onto the window and forced it shut. It took all his strength to remain steady and still, as Lestat crowed him against the vehicle with no concept of personal space. He swallowed hard. The race of his heart brought a crash of adrenaline, as fear and lust merged into a fearsome beast, and he obediently turned to face his ex-husband.

“Why?” Lestat rolled his eyes. “Does my touch offend you?”

“It is inappropriate,” mumbled Louis.

“You used to like inappropriate. I remember our courtship . . . I chased after you for so long, always appearing at your bedroom window in hopes of wooing you, but don’t forget that _you_ were the one to sleep in _my_ bed the very first night you said ‘yes’. You act as if I haven’t had you in every conceivable way and in every conceivable place!”

“And _you_ act as if you did not leave me to care for your father, while you helped yourself to my savings and claimed run of my house, and _you_ act as if you were not the one to flirt with prostitutes and constantly torment me with your taunts and accusations and –”

“Oh, as if you were so perfect, Louis!”

Louis pushed him. It was a firm shove against his chest, as both hands collided with rigid muscle beneath the designer shirt, and walked past him towards the main road, where – in the distance – a bus stop lingered just in sight with a small crowd of people. He stalked forward with fists clenched with such strength that his knuckles turned white, and his lips pursed into a thin and pale line. The world blurred as his vision grew speckled with coloured lights.

“Wait, Louis. Let me apologise!”

A hand grabbed at his upper arm, where fingers encircled the muscle. Louis was jolted to a stop, as Lestat swam back into his sights and stood before him, and immediately two hands were thrown up in mock surrender, as Lestat pouted with a strange half-smile. It was enough for Louis to roll his eyes and offer a sigh. The animated expressions were always a source of fixation, as they were both beautiful and bizarre, but too often Lestat had flown into rages as Louis seemingly stared at nothing . . . too lost in thoughts . . . Louis shook his head.

“I should have left after your mother warned me away.” Louis narrowed his eyes. “I should have left after Armand told me about Nicholas. There is not one person – _not one_ – in your life that considered you a reliable partner . . . no matter how much they loved you.”

“But they _do_ love me, just like you love me.”

“I never had the strength to fight you . . . to leave you . . . you claim to have changed, but have you changed? Do you remember how you fought Babette’s brother?  You have a dark side, Lestat. You have a raving jealousy that threatens to consume all those around you, only for you to then lament the loss that is the product of your own destructive mind.”

The tears built even as he blinked. He raised a hand to his chest, where he rubbed at the heart felt through the fabric of his sweater, and let loose a choked sound, as he shook his head and paced underneath the trees that lined the side of the road. The school was still in sight, along with the bus stop, and the parking lot was just to his side and within reach. It would be easy to escape Lestat, but something stopped him . . . something forced him to stand before the husband that repeatedly broke his heart . . . Louis licked at his lips and stared at him.

“Yet I do not hate you,” whispered Louis. “I see in you a man so polite and charming to all he meets, as well as burning with passion and talent, and I see in you a father that is so doting and attentive that no other could compete. That is why you are so dangerous . . . you make me crave you, even when I know you are bad for me. You are like a drug.”

“I have changed, Louis. I swear on our daughter’s life.”

“Please, we need to keep our distance. Claudia wants us to be a family again . . . if she sees us in such close proximity, it will only give her the wrong idea and break her heart. Let us not get her hopes up, Lestat. You and I both know this will never work.”

Louis ran a hand through his brown hair. The ribbon that held it back came loose, so that it fell about his shoulders and shadowed his face, and his bloodshot eyes struggled to focus as he turned his back on Lestat, before he marched back towards his car. He gripped the keys so tightly in his hands that the metal dug into his palm, until a deep imprint formed and blood threatened to spill, and yet every urge screamed at him to look back, even as he knew there was nothing more than risk and fear behind him. A voice screamed out:

“Armand is cheating on you, Louis!”

He froze. The accusation struck him hard. Louis doubled over, as bile and undigested food cloyed and burned at the back of his throat, and he brought a trembling hand to cover his lips, while the tears finally spilled down his cheeks. A few footsteps came toward him, but a quickly raised hand stopped Lestat in his tracks. The cold silence between them lingered, until only his broken sobs echoed out between them. Lestat touched his shoulder.

“He’s cheating on you with Daniel,” said Lestat.

Louis jerked away. The hand fell limply from his shoulder, before Lestat rammed his hands into his pockets, and yet – rather than look sheepish – there was a nervous smile on his lips, as if he truly expected the news to bring Louis back to him . . . _naïve as ever_. Louis pointed his keys to the car, as he made sure the doors were unlocked. He moved quicker and quicker with every step, while his cries threatened to break into weeping sobs, and he barely heard the voice behind him as it screamed with pure and pleading desire:

“Louis? _Louis_! Come back, Louis . . .”

* * *

“You look beautiful,” whispered Armand.

It was a bittersweet touch. Louis tilted his head, an action borne out of instinct, and he allowed the fingers to trace intricate patterns along his jugular vein, while he half-closed his eyes with a low hum of appreciation. The book on his lap gently shut, as he rested his palm on the cool leather. He cast his gaze to the windows. The cushions upon the windowsill were only enough for one person, forcing Armand to remain at his side, but still his fingers wandered and soon slid beneath the black of his jacket, toying instead with his shirt.

A beautiful ray of sunlight struck at his cheeks, now reddened with a devastating mixture of emotion and arousal, and it took every ounce of strength to wrap his fingers around that porcelain wrist and pull it away from his form. Louis swung his legs over onto the floor, while he forced a smile and pressed a chaste kiss to a furrowed forehead. He did not look Armand in the eye, even as he walked away with a slight hunch and book in his hand.

“Not tonight,” whispered Louis.

A low sigh was his only response. He headed out into the library, where he feigned a struggle to find the home of the book in hand, and – after some minutes – footsteps echoed out into the hall and disappeared up the stairs with a creak of the bottom step. Louis dropped his shoulders and dropped his head. The book was immediately slid into its usual perch, while he quickly took another and darted out towards the back door. No one would think to look for him on the veranda. He would be hidden from any searches.

* * *

 

The door to the upscale apartment opened, revealing its dishevelled owner. Lestat rapidly blinked. He stood only in a loose pair of trousers and with a half-open lace shirt, while his hair fell in tangled curls over his broad shoulders, and his plump lips were pulled into a half-smile, as his tongue came out to lick a little in a gesture of seduction. A flush to his cheeks betrayed his intoxication, just as his dilated eyes betrayed his desire for intimacy.

Louis raised an eyebrow. He looked over Lestat’s shoulder, only to see a pristine apartment with the antique furniture standing in an odd contrast to contemporary pieces, and it was clear that his eclectic taste was the same as when they first met. The electric guitar sat side-by-side with a Stradivarius, while a Chippendale table was featured with IKEA chairs. Louis smiled. A faint blush brought colour to his darker complexion, especially as Lestat leaned against the doorway in a domineering and assertive manner . . . sexual memories consumed his mind.

“You said you changed,” murmured Louis.

Lestat chuckled and spun in the doorway. A neighbour passed by and chirped her congratulations on their reconciliation, but – as Louis stuttered in his protests – Lestat threw arms around his shoulders and called back a loud ‘thank you’, before he whisked Louis inside and slammed shut the door behind them. It locked with a click. A burst of adrenaline coursed through Louis, as he audibly gasped and awaited the inevitable passionate throw against the door, but – much to his disappointment – none came. Louis winced.

He slowly made his way to the sofa, while Lestat fussed about some drawers. There was a rustle and a scraping noise, followed by fast footsteps as Lestat ran around to jump beside him on the sofa, and together they faced one another with awkward smiles. A wrapped present sat in his hands, which he handed to Louis with a shrug and a wink. Louis blushed. It was clearly something that Lestat bought with sincere selflessness.

“I was hoping you’d come,” said Lestat. “I got a present for you! If I were to have listened to Claudia, it would have been a carved pumpkin or spider stickers. You’re lucky I decided not to listen to the whims of a child and went with something more personal . . . more sentimental . . . despite our differences, I needed you to know I still cared.”

“I know you still care, my love. That was never the issue.”

“Just . . . Just open it, okay? If you hate it, I can sell it onward. At the risk of boasting, I must say I’m quite proud of the fact I even found such a treasure! I had to ring a bookseller I knew over in Paris, who had the nerve to criticise my accent, and – well – anyway . . . _tada_!”

Louis laughed. A carved pumpkin flickered with a surreal light from beside the fire, while the scent of pie drifted out from the kitchen, and there was glitter all over the floor from an earlier crafts session, as if Claudia sought to imprint her presence on every surface. He loosened the strings of the present, before gently removing the pressed papers, and beneath – with a murky and slightly dulled cover – sat an old book: _Le Petit Prince._

Tears distorted his vision. He gently ran his fingers over the cover, before opening the pages to reveal the mark of a first edition, and a choked laugh escaped his lips . . . _a brief conversation after her birth, the telling of an English translation, a confession that it was his favourite childhood novel ._ . . Lestat remembered. Louis gently slid the book onto the coffee-table, while Lestat babbled endlessly about whether he liked the gift, and Louis laughed again as he leaned towards him on both hands. He silenced Lestat with a kiss.

It was gentle and tender . . . nothing more than a mere press of lips . . . a gasp from Lestat turned it into something deeper, as lips lingered and tongues came out to play, and soon the speed and pressure and exploration increased, until they clung together for life itself. Every breath was shared. Every moment was treasured. Louis pulled away only as hands pulled loose his shirt from his trousers, as he lightly slapped them away with soft laughter.

“Thank you,” whispered Louis.

Lestat laughed in turn, as he slowly lowered Louis back against the sofa. He pressed his body over him, so that they were chest to chest, and pushed their foreheads to one another, so that his hair fell forward and shielded them in a world of their creation. It was an awkward position, but more so when Lestat tried to removed his jacket and shirt, and especially when Louis sought to remove his shirt at the same time. They were a mess of limbs and sloppy kisses, until both were finally bare-chested. Lestat groaned and asked:

“What do I need to do to win you back?”

“You never lost me, Lestat.”

“We broke up, did we not?” Lestat kissed at his neck. “I nearly lost you once, but then Claudia came into our lives and I thought we would be together forever, but now I realise . . . a child does not _fix_ any issues, but _exacerbates_ them. Don’t mistake me! I would give my life for that girl, but I do simply wish we’d resolved matters before bringing her into existence.”

“I used to think that she was the sole reason I stayed, but I think I was always drawn to you and that I would not have survived without you. We were unhealthy together, but this time apart has only highlighted how much we need one another. I love you, Lestat.”

“You love me, but you will not _be_ with me.”

“I will . . . in time . . . I just need to be sure we won’t fall into the same old traps. You have your music now, which will no doubt bring you fame before long, and fame will perhaps exacerbate problems more than any child. Plus . . . you wanted another.”

“I still think a brother would teach Claudia to share, as – you must confess – she is rather spoiled, but then I suppose so am I in many respects. You are right, though, my Louis! If you want a marriage counsellor or a second honeymoon, I am all ears on that score. You just tell me what you need to put your mind at rest and I shall provide it.”

A part of Louis wanted to push him away. It was still the same . . . _‘what do_ you _want to do?’ . . ._ he would forever be the voice of reason, either left behind or spoiling the fun, while Lestat pleaded with him to either forget his mistakes or fix them on his behalf. Still, the touch of hot flesh on him was an overwhelming sensation. A callused hand ran over his chest, where it flicked his nipple and brought a loud gasp of arousal. Louis pleaded:

“May I stay here tonight?”

Lestat finally broke. A tear rolled down his cheek, as thousands of kisses were placed all over Louis in rapid succession . . . _neck, cheeks, eyes, mouth, shoulders, nipples . . ._ hands soon fought with his belt buckle, as Louis spread his legs and kicked off the loose pair of trousers, and – with a surprised gasp – he revealed an erect member unhindered by any further layers. A brief thought went to the idea of another child, as Lestat fully undressed him, and Louis grabbed at the blanket over the sofa to cover their naked forms, as Lestat swore:

“You may stay here always.”

A high squeak escaped Louis’ lips, as his legs were spread and held in the crook of Lestat’s arms, and – as Lestat moved into place – they locked eyes and leaned ever closer, until they became devoured by the passionate kiss that pursued.  Louis could not bring himself to break away for air, as he tasted the wine and chocolates on his ex-husband’s tongue. The tears of Lestat mingled with his own, as both laughed and gasped and moaned in pleasure . . .

* * *

“I know you were with him,” said Armand.

The lines about his brow deepened. He was beautiful even in his rage, as if every micro-expression were crafted into the finest of porcelain, and the flush to his cheeks added an extra dimension to the life within his countenance. Every lock of auburn hair was perfectly placed, while his suit – dated, yet designer – clung to his youthful frame enough to accentuate every muscle and curve, as he leaned dangerously close towards the fire.

There was no passion, no rage . . .

The anger was a simmering flame, hot and intense beneath the coals, but he would not explode without control as others may attempt, and – while once he had pushed Lestat from on high – not once had he been physical with Louis in any form. He was hard to read. Armand stared into those flames until dark shadows flickered about his features, as he stoked at the coals with a long poker. The age difference had never been more apparent.

Louis sipped at his wine. It was a dry and sweet taste, which lingered on his tongue as he held it within his mouth, and the swallow was almost audible, as he dropped the long-stemmed glass onto the dining table with a low hum in response. The wine looked almost like blood in the candlelight, as he toyed with the stem where it sat beside their still steaming meal. A homemade card bore the number ‘twenty-one’ in a childish scrawl, just beside one of the candles that dripped a slow and steady stream of wax down onto the candelabrum.

The fireworks outside marked the national holiday, as their neighbours celebrated the fifth of November and all that entailed. Louis turned his head towards the bay windows. There was a visible bonfire burning in the local park, as an effigy stood tall in a grim display, and – if he narrowed his eyes to focus – Lestat could just about be seen in the crowd with Claudia, as she embraced the local culture and forgot her brief time spent in France. Armand asked:

“Do you not deny this?”

Louis sighed and strode towards the windows. The families crowded together . . . some bobbing for apples, others buying roast potatoes from the flames of the fires, but most staring at the fireworks with an innocent wonder. The younger members of the crowd kept to the perimeter . . . they played music in small groups, while a few exchanged food in small picnics, and others drank alcohol without shame. Daniel stood with a group of students. A slow sigh preceded a reach for the curtains, as they fell closed and hid the sights beyond.

“There is too much time between us.”

“You must explain, Louis.”

“I am the product of another time.” Louis gestured between them. “You say that you love me as I tap into a cultural zeitgeist . . . that I symbolise some ideal, with all the depth of emotion that you so feel absent in your life . . . I am a grown man, Armand. Why is it that I feel you love me for the ideal and not for the reality? We are growing apart.”

“If we are growing apart, it is not for lack of effort on my part.” Armand stabbed at the fire. “I have fought for your love at every crossroads. You spend more and more time away from me, to the extent that even when I am _with_ you that I feel _without_ you.”

“I do not know what you mean,” said Louis.

“Do you not? Even now you look from our window. You will not make eye contact and you flinch from my touch . . . when we make love, it feels as if I am making love to a corpse. Is this what you wanted when you came to me? Is this the life you envisioned? I feel as if I were merely a rebound from your first ever romance, only to come short at every turn.”

The candlelight reflected in the wine. Louis stared into the glass at the shimmering lights, until he cocked his head and reached out to extinguish the flames. Each one burned against his fingertips, inflicting a sweet pain that grounded him in the moment, and soon the only source of light was the roaring fire central to the dining-room. There was relief in the darkness, even as Armand remained fixed as a shadow with poker in hand. Louis walked toward the main doors with a graceful gait, as he turned to mumble:

“I apologise if you feel that to be true.”

Louis threw open the doors, as he walked out into the hall. The artificial lights above temporarily blinded him, as he shielded his eyes and shut the doors behind him, and he slowly headed towards the main stairwell, while he prayed that he could make it to his rooms before Lestat returned with Claudia. Every step creaked underfoot, while a large clock ticked by each and every second with a heavy weight. Louis counted each second . . .

* * *

The room was half-empty.

Louis opened several drawers, only to uncover the contact paper. It let loose a light scent, albeit one weak and barely perceptible, and – as he closed the drawers with a slam – the photo-frames on the bureau rattled and moved, until one fell with a slam. He lifted the frame. It revealed a familiar image, where he stood at the altar with Lestat some years ago, and both wore fine suits that reflected their individual personalities and tastes.

It seemed that Armand was right. There were no marks in the dust of removed frames, but every single one marked a moment in Louis’ life . . . there were no photographs of Marius or Daniel or Sybelle, as if Armand were nothing more than a lodger in his home. Louis walked towards the window. There was a car missing on the drive, while a set of keys were left on the windowsill, and yet there was no note . . . no voicemail . . . there was only the distinct absence of someone once there and someone now gone. He shook his head.

There was a book still upturned on the bed, left by the lazy hands of a speed-reader. He half-smiled and wondered whether Armand would return, but a part of him knew it was a lost casualty in an unspoken war between them. A car pulled into the driveway, as Claudia ran out with arms thrown upward into the air and a wide smile on her face. Lestat climbed out and scooped her into a warm embrace. It was a beautiful sight, one that made Louis laugh.

The room would soon be filled.

* * *

“Is Armand dating Daniel, Papa?”

Louis froze. Every muscle in his body grew rigid, as he paused in his paperwork at the dining-room table, where an array of receipts and log-books sat before him in what was often termed an ‘organised mess’. The coffee to the side still steamed, letting loose small clouds into the air that wafted into strange shapes. He held so tight onto his pencil that it nearly snapped under the pressure, as a long line scraped across the various columns.  

Claudia stood in the doorway, with a glass of warm milk in hand. The skirts of his nightdress brushed along the tiled floor, while she stared with eager wide eyes to the boxes of Christmas decorations across the kitchen, and – leaning a little towards one – Louis smiled to see her beam brightly on sight of a dancing Santa figure. He sipped at his coffee, nearly forgetting the dark and awkward question. Claudia sipped her milk in turn. A comfortable silence fell between them, before he found enough strength to choke out the question:

“Why do you ask that?”

Claudia came over to the table. The small glass of milk was placed carefully away from his paperwork, while he mentally calculated various expenses of his client, and – jotting down a few numbers – he tried to keep his eyes cast low, to feign indifference. Every beat of his heart was fast and hard, as his mouth ran dry and his eyes watered. He worked with a fast hand and perfect cursive, as he hummed low from the back of his throat, before he finally lifted his head and locked eyes with Claudia. The smile she wore was devilish.

“I saw them together,” said Claudia.

“When was this?”

“It was after Armand left the house.” Claudia yawned. “Father took me to the theatre, but Armand was sitting in the opposite box with Daniel. Father said they were in love. I always thought they were just friends, especially as they seem so happy together, but I suppose some couples must be happy together. Do you think they’re happy?”

A stab of pain struck his chest. He dropped his pencil, where it rolled in a strange circle across his sheet of paper, and it eventually wobbled to a complete stop, as he lowered his longer fingers to trap it between skin and wood. Claudia titled her head to the side, as she smiled and sipped again at her milk. It was important for him to make sure that she knew that marriage was meant to bring only love and happiness, but equally the idea of discussing Armand made bile rise to the back of his throat. Louis asked in a low voice:

“Do you think I was unhappy with your father?”

Claudia sighed and placed down her mug. The expression she wore spoke of an old soul trapped within a young body, so much so that he could hardly believe that she was just four-years old, and he reached out to brush back a lock of curly blonde hair, while memories drifted by of the very first time he held her in his arms. He wanted so much more for her than a broken home and lost dreams. A tear fell down his cheek, as he said:

“I’m sorry if you thought we were unhappy.”

“I think you used to be unhappy,” confessed Claudia. “Now I see it was because you didn’t listen to each other, but now you listen to each other all the time. He helps you to meet people and see a lot of the world, even when you feel sad and scared, and sometimes that makes you happier. You also help him to slow down and think about things, too.”

“The time apart has done us well.” Louis smiled. “You’re right; we listen to each other. I think it forced us to talk more, as we had to co-ordinate raising you from two different homes, but – if you would still want it – we were thinking of living together again.”

“I’d like that. I will be honest . . . sometimes I don’t like Father; everything with him is a drama and a fight, and I think we’re too similar, so neither one of us will back down. I sometimes wanted you to break up, but then . . . I saw you so sad and I saw him sad. He would sit there playing the piano and forget how much time passed, until he would sometimes cry when he thought I wouldn’t see his tears. He loves you very much.”

Louis blinked back his tears. He threw his arms wide in preparation for an embrace, but – as Claudia turned to him with that same devilish smile – a loud knock came from the front door and disturbed the moment of intimacy between them. Claudia chuckled and returned to her milk, as if somehow anticipating this interruption. He climbed to his feet and crossed the room to her, where he pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, and smoothed her long locks before he stepped away with a low sigh. The knock continued at the door.

“Wait here, my love,” whispered Louis.

The hand lingered on her hair, as he dragged himself from her presence. He walked out into the hall, where he crossed the large distance, and – much to his irritation – someone started to knock out a faint tune on the other side of the door, while humming a few notes of a song just beyond recognition. Louis rolled his eyes and threw open the door. A warm smile broke across his lips, as Lestat stood and winked on sight of him.

Lestat was dressed in his best suit. The blond locks of hair were pulled back with a black ribbon, while his eyes looked almost a pure blue under the bright skies, and even his shoes had been polished to perfection, as they reflected back the distorted image of above. A low bow was given; Louis could only laugh in response, but that laughter was cut short when a hand pointed upward above the door to the ceiling of the porch. Louis leaned out and saw a bough of mistletoe hanging without shame on the white ceiling.

He opened his mouth to question its appearance.

A second later, lips were pressed to him. It caught him by surprise, as he audibly gasped, and it was all the opportunity that Lestat needed, as he slid his tongue forward to explore freely and without any hesitation. Louis moaned and slid his hands along a muscular torso, before resting them on broad shoulders with a slight squeeze. The seconds passed into minutes. It took all his strength to pull away, as he threw back his head with loud gasps and pants, and he knew his cheeks would be a dark shade of red. He choked out:

“I swear that was not there earlier.”

Lestat laughed long and hard, as he took Louis’ hand. He was pulled onto the porch, where he was spun around and Lestat begun a fast waltz, and soon they descended into shared laughter and whispered words and incoherent – yet simultaneous – babbling conversations. Lestat finally stopped to dip him low, while gazing at him with dilated eyes and a large smile. Louis reached up to stroke at those soft cheeks, as Lestat whispered in a husky voice:

“Perhaps we have a matchmaker in our midst.”

* * *

Louis threw back his head.

A low moan died on his lips, as he choked back on saliva. The orgasmic bliss tore through every nerve, as his toes curled and muscles tensed, and his legs locked impossibly tight around the muscular waist above him. Bright spots danced across his vision, while he arched his back to breaking point like a bowstring about to snap. Every beat of his heart pounded loud in his ears. The ropes of come shot across his abdomen, as he panted for breath and finally collapsed onto the sweat-soaked sheets. The come stained his stomach.

Lestat collapsed beside him, with his deflating member hanging between his legs. The absence of his cock was always strange, as Louis gaped below and felt his hole twitch, but he ignored the sensations with a smile, as he cuddled up beside his lover. Louis traced a hand around an areola, where the still hard nipple peaked out. It would take some time for the refractory period to end, but – in the meantime – the afterglow was pure bliss.

There was a creak on the landing outside. Louis stiffened, but Lestat simply giggled. He was flushed red all over, with the scent of sweat and sex clinging to his skin, and his swollen lips were still sticky with saliva and pre-come, as he licked at them with a slow swipe of his tongue. Louis lightly slapped at his chest, before he snatched at the sheets and brought them high to cover their naked bodies. The footsteps died away, where a toilet flushed, before they slowly returned and then disappeared into a nearby bedroom. Louis sighed.

“We must keep quiet,” whispered Louis.

Lestat hummed, as Louis entwined their legs and hands. They were effectively as one; even their room reflected back their new union, as pieces of clothing lay scattered across the floor and sheet-music merged with accounting books on the tables. The warmth of Lestat grounded Louis, as the moonlight shone through the window and caught against his eyes, and Louis smiled to see how they turned into a beautiful shade of grey in the night. Lestat ran his hands through brown locks of hair, as Louis was nearly lulled into a deep sleep. He whispered:

“Can we make this work?”

“I think we can only try,” confessed Lestat. “I have longed for this moment. I felt rejected and alone every time you refused to come back to me, but now I feel complete . . . I feel like my world is whole once more, with more love than I can stand to express.”

“Shall we tell her before Christmas, if we are to be together?”

“I would tell her right now, if you let me.”

It was Louis’ turn to laugh. He buried his head into the crook of Lestat’s neck, while he breathe deep his unique scent and let his eyes fall closed, and together they were lost in the sheer intimacy and romance between them, as the curtains danced in the breeze. The soft beat of Lestat’s heart could be felt under his fingertips. The seconds drifted into minutes, until images flashed before his eyes and treasured memories consumed his dreams . . . Louis would not remember when he lost consciousness, but he experienced a peaceful slumber . . .

* * *

_The door flung wide open._

_Louis struggled to see in the dark; decorations glittered in the hallway, with bright lights bursting through the bedroom doors and burning his retinas, and yet he saw soon Claudia dressed in her reindeer pyjamas with loose hair about her shoulders. It took a few seconds for her to recognise what she saw, as Lestat cursed and rolled over in the bed. He forgot both to be out before morning and that she was still unaware of their union . . ._

_Claudia squealed in delight, before she ran for the bed. It took only a small dive for her to crash between them, as she crawled under the covers and tugged at Lestat’s old shirt, that slipped to reveal his shoulder. Lestat rolled over again with a groan, as he dropped an arm over her small form and pulled her flush against him. It was a beautiful sight. He buried his face into her hair and breathed deep, as his eyes watered and he whispered ‘thank you’ to Louis, as finally he was able to simply be with his family as a whole unit._

_“You should be asleep,” said Louis. “It’s Christmas Eve.”_

_Louis crawled closer, so that he could wrap his arms around the both of them. He brought one hand up to stroke at her cheeks, while the other toyed with the back of Lestat, and downstairs the radio beamed out a cheesy song . . ._ ‘all I want for Christmas is you’ _. . . it was a simple tune, often criticised by Lestat in the past, but today it was perfect. The presents would still need to be put underneath the tree, as they remained hidden in his closet, and outside was complete silence . . . no commuters, no students . . . Claudia chirped:_

_“This is the best Christmas gift I could ever receive!”_

_It was true. They were together again. Louis pressed a kiss to her blond locks, before – with tears spilling over his cheeks – he pressed a lingering kiss to Lestat’s lips, and he pulled away with a reluctant sigh and soft laughter. He prayed the moment would never end. Claudia held at his hand with her tiny fingers pulling at him, while he allowed her the soft intimacy and moment of play, and together they basked in a comfortable silence._

_“Merry Christmas,” whispered Claudia._

_“Merry Christmas,” he replied._


End file.
